Letting Go
by perfectstorm131
Summary: Elliot & Olivia negotiate new waters in their partnership when it's time for Calvin to be reunited with his family. Multi-chapter WIP. Rated M for future chapters. AU
1. Tuesday

Letting Go - Chapter 1 (Tuesday)

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Notes-

e/o

au - alternate writing of calvin & olivia's relationship / calvin leaving

angsty, mmmm

not graphic yet between our principal hot heroes, but that's where we're headed, so eventually this will be XXX or AC or NC-17 or whatever your smut rating of choice is ;)

aiming for a total of 5-7 chapters in length

please let me know how you react / what you think/feel ... am curious and open and i like responses.

and check perfectstorm131 (dot) livejournal (dot) com for more. :)

all belong to dick wolf/nbc

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Suddenly, and without warning, she snapped.

Olivia smashed the perp's head into the metal table, and when his neck snapped up, his dazed expression had only a split second to register his shock when she did it again. Smash. And again.

Elliot was outside debating motives with Cragen, one eye loosely trained on Olivia's form, the other on his conversation, when he heard the first muted crash through the window. Don, moving faster than any man his age should move, was inside the room and pulling Olivia off the perp before Elliot could process what happened.

Olivia hissed and jerked violently against Cragen, who was barely able to restrain her. She'd become a feral animal, all teeth and fury. Elliot flashed back to the last time this happened, and shuddered for a second before snapping into action and through the interrogation room door.

"Don—Let—Me—Go—" she spat through gritted teeth.

"Olivia!" Elliot shouted. He crouched in front of Olivia, willing her to make eye contact. "Olivia. What—? Relax."

The man sitting in the interrogation chair started laughing. Chained to the table, he kicked his chair back, visibly aroused, grinned, thrust his hips up, said, "Fucking bitch. Wanna taste? Wanna taste, bitch?"

"Shut up!" Elliot spun around and shouted. He forcibly sat the man back in his chair. "You sit there and you shut the hell up."

Cragen pushed her by her shoulders out of the room. Elliot watched her shoulders slacken as she complied to his force and was taken by an unfamiliar but deep unease. Before the door shut, Cragen turned to him and barked, "Finish this."

Cragen meant the interrogation. Elliot only thought of his partner.

)( )( )(

By the time he was done—countless hours, one typically obnoxious lawyer, and an eleventh-hour DNA positive ID later, and it was open and shut—he entered the squad room to find Olivia was gone. No coat. Computer off. His heart lurched, but he quieted himself. Don called his name from across the squad room. Elliot caught Fin's eye—he knew something? Yes, he could read it—but turned to face his captain before he could ask the questions that were begging to break from him.

"Shut the door," Cragen said quietly.

Elliot sat in a chair, regarding his captain with guarded eyes. "Sir—"

"Spare me the thin blue line shit, Elliot. What the hell happened in there?"

"Guy was an asshole," he responded, managing to keep his voice easy.

"No, Elliot," and Cragen's voice was strained and deliberate. "Try again." Elliot fell silent, masking the emotions raging in him.

"Is this too much for her? What the hell is going on?" Cragen rubbed his eyes. "I had her in here for twenty minutes and she had no response. I sent her home. I've only ever seen you that out of control. It's not like her." He looked at Elliot again, expectant, wary.

Elliot tried again. "Cap, I don't know what got into her. But whatever she said, it's right—"

Cragen cut him off. "She didn't say anything, Elliot. Nothing to explain or defend herself." He exhaled, considering his detective. "Anybody else would have been fired on the spot. I've sent her to Huang." Then, more quietly: "Whatever it is, you'd better help her figure it out, or you'll have a new partner."

Fin had followed him out the door. "Elliot."

"Yeah." He felt the hours, glanced at the clock. Past midnight. His head swam.

"She's been cracking. Even at the worst—I haven't seen her like this," Fin said, caution edging his tone.

"Do you know what's going on?"

Fin looked at him with hooded eyes. "Man, you should just talk to her."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Elliot took a step in, half-curious, half-angry.

"She's private, all right? Whatever I see—it's none of my business. Family's new for her. And she's never gotten used to us being in her business. I just—I just think she needs to talk." Fin fixed him with a steady stare. And walked away.

Unconsciously, Elliot flexed and unflexed his fists. His wife would be worried. But Olivia was like his breath, his blood. As much as he'd tried to live without one or the other of them, it was impossible. And so he risked the fury of both as he drove up to her apartment.

)( )( )(

Buzzed her doorbell. Shifted his weight on either foot.

No answer.

Texted. Liv, are you up?

No answer.

He let the minutes tick by. Five, then twenty. An hour. He went to wait in his car, debating what his next move should be, when his phone beeped.

Her text read, Come up. Don't sit there all night.

Elliot exhaled for the first time in hours.

Olivia hit the buzzer before he had a chance to press it, and he bounded up the stairs, feeling fear and eagerness pulse through him. Grateful for the window of her permission.

She had the door open a crack and was standing at the sink when he entered. One look at her face—scrubbed free of tear tracks but still startling because of the visceral wash of sadness that overcame him when he saw her—and his heart caught in his throat.

"Hey," he whispered, in a voice lower than intended. Wanted to gather her up. She looked like she needed to be held—and he resisted the impulse—familiar to him now, so familiar that he barely registered it—as easily as he denied himself sleep.

Olivia fixed her gaze on him. She was gentle now, he realized. Less a panther, but not quite a kitten. "I lost my mind today," she said softly.

Elliot grinned spontaneously. Oh. "Yeah. Well, you're not the first, and you won't be the last. Got to let it go."

"Cragen threatened to take my badge."

He bit his lip. "He just wants you to get help, Liv. Might not be a bad idea."

"Dammit, Elliot—" she retorted. Then, mid-sentence, she exhaled shakily. Shook her head, and brushed past him to walk to the couch. "Pour me a drink?"

Elliot pulled the bourbon off the top shelf and took the two shot glasses she'd laid out for them. "Been drinking?"

"No. Was waiting for you." He looked quickly at her, and there was a trace of a smile on her lips.

"You were up here the whole time? Decided to make me wait?" he asked, and realized he wasn't angry, still felt grateful for being let in. Too often she shut him out, and his gut clenched for a minute, knowing it was a pattern between them that he too often initiated.

"Something like that," she responded, and he caught something off in her tone.

"Something like what?"

"Just wanted—I don't know—to see if you'd wait. I told you, I lost my mind today," she said with a grimace.

He smiled through his concern. "I always wait, Liv. You know that. And you—I want you to ask, you know, when you need—I'll always be here." He looked at her directly from across the room, willing her to understand he meant what he was saying.

Instead, she laughed, softly. "I know."

He poured the liquor quickly and maneuvered himself to her side on the couch. "Liv, what the hell is going on?"

She reached for her shot, brushing her fingers against his. Elliot shivered. Something was unrestrained about her, her loose hair, her quietness now, her unravelling earlier in the day. She tipped the liquid into her mouth, did not flinch as it burned her. Elliot followed, finding comfort in the sharp slickness of the taste. He couldn't tell if she knew how much her proximity, her unguardedness, was softening and warming him.

"Found Calvin's father." She closed her eyes. Their knees touched.

"Oh," he said. "Where is he now?"

"Asleep."

Elliot gazed at Olivia—her hair mussed, her head tipped back to rest on the back of the couch, legs stretched out over the coffee table, soft blanket pulled haphazardly around her stomach. Her hands resting on top, fingers splayed. Her body, betraying nothing, no internal battle. And then she opened her eyes, and for the second time since he had arrived, he felt the unfiltered onslaught of her emotions fire at him.

It had been twelve years since he'd been paired with her, a fresh-faced, eager recruit, quick to empathize, quick to relate, quick to laugh. That laughter had slowed over the years, as her walls had built up—and their trust had built, eroded, and manifested now in this elaborate dance of partnership. He couldn't tell sometimes that he was in love—then, in moments like now, when the world outside seemed completely irrelevant, it would hit him like a ton of bricks. That no love like this had ever existed for him outside of this one, for this person. That no love could rival this, and that is why, so much of the time, he couldn't bring himself to believe it even existed.

Elliot forced his head clear, to speak, gently. "Not Calvin, Olivia. His father. Where is he?"

"On a business trip in Rome. He'll be back on Tuesday. A week from today." She continued to look at him, head tilted to the side.

"And then—"

"He'll go—" she started. And bit back a sob. Closed eyes, walls back up.

And in an instant, Elliot understood. "You love Calvin. You want to keep him." He's become your family, he thought, but did not say.

"Fuck," she started, and then dissolved into tears. "I wanted this worse than I thought. Sometimes it's better, you know, not to get too close—"

Swiftly Elliot started to reach for her, overcome by a need to assuage the loneliness in her voice. But she pulled away well before he could touch her, was back on her feet, pacing.

"I know—" his voice was husky, and he bit off the syllables that were threatening to crowd his throat. He did not know what he wanted to say, so stopped himself before he said something he would regret.

Olivia rubbed her temple, stilling her tears. She paused, and he knew she was considering her words. Or gathering them. He couldn't tell. With her eyes closed, he was shut out of her thoughts.

Silence hung between them like a fraying cord. He thought to himself, Idiot, you don't know.

Finally, she opened her warm brown eyes, leveled them on her partner. Something fierce brewed there. It frightened him as much as it made him itch to touch her. "Elliot," she said so softly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do, but I don't want to fall apart. You should go, it's late, and I'll be okay. I'll be in tomorrow, okay?" and continued to gather him in her gaze, just for a second.

In these moments, Elliot felt, as he did now, that she was telling him other things, soft, open secrets.

Dangerous territory. He flicked his eyes away.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to leave you like this." But he moved to gather the shot glasses.

"Elliot, I'm fine," she said, irritation creeping in her voice.

Without thinking—what good ever comes of thinking?—Elliot impulsively walked up to her, put his hands on her shoulders. Gathered her stiff form briefly in a hug, then kissed her temple. Allowed his mouth to stay there a split second longer than would be okay under any circumstance—felt the warmth of her hair, drew in the smell of her body—and responded in a low voice,"Okay."

He then drew her back, still gripping her shoulders, looked into her eyes. Wanting, with a feeling that left him wordless, one which he felt in every corner of his body, to take her off her feet and carry her into the bedroom, to undress her, to hold her safe in the same silence that pressed on them now. But Olivia startled at the look on his face, and drew back lightly. Voice unsteady, she said, "Bye, Elliot."

He backed away, regaining his composure, and said, "Bye, Liv. See you tomorrow."

It was raining. The street was eerily deserted, even for this hour. When he got downstairs, he looked up to her window. Although the lights were shut off, he saw her figure in the window before she retreated into the darkness of her apartment.

Everything in him rioted. He felt, not for the first time, but clearly, now, much more than ever before, a growing helpless in the face of his partner's struggle. And, if he was honest with himself, in some vague sense, he felt guilty. Because he did not know what to do, he went on autopilot. He drove home, and climbed into bed with his wife, holding her with a tenderness he did not always know how to express. She barely woke and conformed to his body easily, pulling him into sleep.

(tbc)


	2. Wednesday

Letting Go – Chapter 2 (Wednesday)

It's a strange feeling, Olivia thought, to be returning to work the day after a mental breakdown. Not as strange to be shrinked. Over the years, she'd grown used to laying bare every part of herself after traumatic events, allowing her emotions and impulses to be sorted and categorized as if she was a machine, so others could determine whether or not she was fit to reenter the battlefield.

Olivia gazed out the window behind George's head. Her slender fingers absently toyed with the frayed edge of her armrest.

"Olivia."

George's voice touched her ears. Olivia rubbed her temple.

"Well," she exhaled.

"What happened?"

"I wasn't going to kill him."

George's mouth quirked up in the briefest smile. "You didn't."

Olivia lifted her eyebrows and retorted, too quickly, "I could have."

"Did you want to?" George asked.

She sighed. "No."

It was the truth. Olivia thought briefly about yesterday, the way the perp's head had become light as silly putty in her hands. The captain, suprisingly strong, much stronger than her, restraining her—Elliot's vivid blue eyes as he barked at her to come back—and a second later, how she felt herself snap back into herself, felt her shoulders loosen, felt the rage uncoil swiftly in her belly and morph into a deep sadness. She'd cried a bit in Cragen's office, silently, unable to answer his questions even after she'd calmed and he continued to ask. Much the same ones George was asking now.

"Do you know why you did it, then? Why you became so violent with him?"

She wavered. "It got to me."

"The man you were interrogating."

She nodded.

"Liv, you've seen a lot. Sometimes that can get to a person."

"Yea," she said. "I don't—I don't feel that way anymore. But it surprised me." Olivia's

eyes found George's. "What now?"

"Do you feel like you're fit to work?"

"Yes."

His eyes did not leave hers. He repeated, gently, as if her name was a question.

"Olivia."

"I'm okay, George. I rested," she said simply.

"What did you do this morning?"

Olivia smiled despite herself. "Calvin woke me up. Third morning in a row. The weather's been so bad and he keep psyching himself up for a snow day. We made breakfast, he got ready, I got ready."

"Then you came in to work."

"Yes."

"How have you been sleeping?"

"Last night I slept fine. Deepest sleep in a long time," Olivia said, and as soon as this left her mouth, she wished she could gather the syllables back up. Because—

"Why?" George asked.

"Because—" she paused, and bit her lip. Because Elliot came over and we did shots? And then he held me for a minute before he remembered who we are together and walked straight out the door? And even still, I felt so safe, so I slept? She shivered involuntarily, remembering his warmth, how close he was to her—No. "I think I was just exhausted. I crashed."

George observed her casually for a moment, then said, "Even the best detectives lose it sometimes, Olivia. Even you."

She nodded, again, dreading what was coming.

George continued. "I can recommend that you take time—I see that you're exhausted, and while I don't really believe you're a threat to anybody, time would still help you recover some of your strength—or I can let you do that on your own."

He studied the detective carefully. "What do you think?"

Equal parts shame and relief flooded her. "How long?" Olivia asked.

"How long do you think you need?"

Olivia flicked her gaze back out the window before settling on George's face for a long moment. All the suffering she had seen. And that perp—he'd been no better and no worse than the worst of them. She knew why she had snapped, even though she didn't trust George enough to lead him down that rabbit hole.

"A week," she finally responded. "I have more than enough vacation time."

George smiled at her. That reassured her, somehow. "Fine. Talk to Cragen, and I'll follow up with him later today. And Olivia—if you ever want to keep talking, I'm here."

She nodded as she exited.

)( )( )(

Explaining to Cragen was suprisingly—or not suprisingly—easy. He'd regarded her with kindness, and somewhere she sensed that he was relieved that she, unlike her partner, knew enough to step back when circumstances dictated.

Explaining to Elliot was less easy—he understood, but his face had tensed, somewhere between concern and frustration—as he'd absorbed the information she'd given him.

As they stood together restlessly at their desks, Elliot's expression guarded, Olivia thought—at him, as if willing him to understand—just a week. Just. A. Week. Not forever.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he'd finally asked, his eyes burning into hers, as if trying to detect anything she left unsaid.

Yes. Come over and keep holding me, like that, like yesterday, that was good. But Olivia just shook her head no and gave him a little smile.

"And you're choosing to do this, now. This isn't something they're making you do."

"No, El, I'm choosing it," Olivia sighed gently, edging closer to him. "Gives me time to figure out the Calvin situation."

"Hey, you never did explain to me how you found him," Elliot said. "Have you talked to him?"

Olivia paused, regarding her partner, then answered both his questions. "I talked to his secretary. Calvin's DNA hit—his dad used to work in the system. Big shot now, I think he's a writer."

"You gonna call him again?"

"Yeah." Olivia moved to go, feeling herself begin to slip, wanting not to have any kind of conversation in the squad room that would leave her feeling any more exposed than she did.

She thought Elliot might have sensed this, because he only furrowed his eyebrows,

then nodded his head once. "Okay."

"Okay," she said, and left.

She felt him watch her get on the elevator, his attention spreading an unfamiliar fire through her body. It was only then she realized that something had changed the night before. That she had exposed a part of herself and he'd received her fully and that act—of her giving and his receiving—had changed them both, had changed them together, slightly. The way a shift in a degree of a planet's angle to the sun can mean everything and almost nothing at the same time.

)( )( )(

Sitting in the silent apartment, counting down the minutes till Calvin burst through the door from school, Olivia held her cell in one hand and a frayed piece of paper bearing a long string of numbers in the other.

He—David, his name was David, she forced herself to remember— knew he had a son—this much was clear from the conversation Oliva had with his secretary a couple days prior. That woman—older, smoky-throated and all honey-sweetness had put Olivia at ease immediately despite the strange nature of the call and the conflicting emotions that bubbled within her as she made it.

Oh, the woman had said, We'd thought Vivian was just making up her craziness again. She called here, you know. Said she'd given custody to some wonderful woman detective. Left it in a voicemail message for David, no phone number to call her back at, nothing. I had to tell him. He's been looking for Calvin for years now. When they split—it nearly killed him. He hadn't heard from her in years. Changed her last name. He'll be around soon. I'll let him know you called, okay?

He'd called four times in the past two days, and each time Olivia let it go to voicemail. He left short messages and it was impossible for her to tell anything about him from them.

She'd run his name in the system. Every system she could get access to, in fact. Googled him. Asked Star to run his info through the FBI database, a favor her friend had grudgingly obliged. Nothing. He was a stellar human being. A champion of the downtrodden. Charity work and all. Wrote decent novels and made a lot of money doing it. Was a thief of her happiness.

Olivia dialed. David picked up on the first ring.

"Hello, Olivia?"

"Hello," she said.

She was first surprised at his voice, though she'd heard it before. Clear, manicured, deep. "Olivia. Finally, it's so, so good to talk to you."

Olivia cleared her throat. "I'm calling because Calvin's in my custody, and I wante to find his family. Vivian signed him over to me, and she's skipped town."

Olivia heard a sigh on the other end, and gripped her phone tighter.

"I'd love to see my child, Olivia. It's been years—" his voice cracked, and she swore she heard the beginnings of tears. Surprise two. Maybe busting all of these careless parents was starting to jade her into thinking nobody loved their children anymore. "Are you getting along well with him?"

"He's great," she responded simply. "How long has it been since you've seen him?"

"Almost four years. How is he?"

"Well—" she exhaled. "Good, considering."

"And you—do you have other children? Are you married?" he asked.

"No and no," Olivia said quickly. "Your secretary mentioned that you're coming back soon."

"Yes. I would leave earlier but I have to wrap things up. I'll switch my flight to land New York and meet you the day I get back. Or," he continued, hesitating now, "I could fly you both out here to meet with me this week."

Rome? What? "That's very, very generous, but—"

He cut Olivia off swiftly, "I'm so sorry, I know that's inappropriate. Yes. We'll meet when I get back. I am so looking forward to meeting you, Olivia. Do you think I could speak to Calvin?—"

She opened her mouth, but at that moment she heard a key in the door and Calvin's figure popped in. He shouted cheerfully, "Hey Olivia!" before his eyes widened as she brought her finger to her mouth.

"David, hang on one second, okay?" she spoke carefully into the reciever.

Olivia turned to face the boy, her fingers cupped protectively over the phone. "Calvin, I've got your dad on the phone, and he wants to say hi. Do you want to talk to him?"

Olivia watched a thousand expressions fly over Calvin's face in the span of a blink of an eye. Then, without saying anything at all, he reached his hand for the phone, and sank down in the soft couch beside Olivia.

All she could hear was his end of the conversation, his short, clipped answers. But she also saw the expression on her face, the dawning realization that his father was coming, for him. His father was coming for him. And when he hung up the phone, and said, "He said he'd call back tomorrow, okay, Olivia?" and there was a lightness in his tone she'd never heard in the short weeks that she'd known him, and she knew deep within her that it was right, to connect this boy with his father, and that she would have to, absolutely have to, let him go.

)( )( )(

Elliot called. Presumably to run a case by her, but she knew better. He was fumbling for a way to be there for her, and this was as good as any.

Just like the night before, she set out shot glasses. Waited for Elliot in the kitchen. Calvin came wandering out as he was prone to do, and she sent him to bed in her room. They both had nightmares—occupational hazard of difficult childhoods—and on the worst of these sometimes lately she'd wake to find him curled up in the couch in the corner of her bedroom. So now, she'd learn to read the signs. Up wandering this late? He'd fall asleep right away if she just tucked him into her bed. When she was ready to sleep, she'd leave him be and sleep on the couch or in his room.

Olivia understood this. The impulse to be close without being seen.

When she heard the knock on the door, she padded over softly and opened the door. The sight of Elliot made her smile, and she parted the way a little to let him brush by.

"Hey," they both said, at the same time. Then lapsed into quiet. She felt, rather than saw, his indecision.

"Liv, I know this is hard on you—" he started, softly.

She felt the back of her eyes sting and cut him off immediately. "Elliot, what's the case?"

Elliot didn't back down. Something, yes, absolutely, had shifted. Olivia knew now that he would push the limits of permission she had previously given him. Knew that he would be tempted to—and would try—to walk through any wall she set up.

Was most surprised by herself when she gave up the fight even before she started it.

Elliot pushed. "Did you call him?"

"Yep." She walked into the kitchen.

"Well?"

"Tall, dark, and handsome." Olivia looked at him, sarcasm and a half-smile written across her features.

"Strange way to describe a guy you've only met over the phone. Not a creep?"

Olivia shrugged. "Who knows. But he seems—he doesn't seem bad." She sighed. "Calvin lit up when he spoke to him. He sounded reassuring. El, he offered to fly us out to Rome to meet him since he can't get out here beforehand."

Elliot stiffened. "What?"

"Yeah. I said no—"

"Damn straight. You don't know this guy."

Olivia's hackles rose. "Well damn, Elliot. I know that. But it did seem—spontaneous. In a good way. Genuine. Like he really missed his kid. Vivian disappeared. Changed their names."

Elliot nodded. His expression softened. "Sorry, Liv. I just—I don't want this guy hurting you any more than you're going to get hurt. Just want you to be safe."

She poured the bourbon. She knew that.

Elliot teased her, pointing to the bottle. "Is this an every night thing, now?"

Olivia raised an eyebrow as they clinked glasses. What the hell, she thought. "Long as Kathy doesn't mind you coming home tasting like brandy," she said, and flinched at her word choice.

Elliot didn't seem to notice, but became absorbed in his thoughts for a moment. "Liv, you know that Kathy doesn't seem bothered by it, at all? Not since Eli."

Olivia's stomach did a slow drop but she continued pouring another shot of bourbon into each of their glasses instead of reacting. "What's "it," El?"

"You know. Working together, spending all these damn hours together. Visiting you, like this. I used to be—She used to fight me, make comments. It took a long time to build that trust."

Something Olivia couldn't place—worry?—edged his tone.

And she heard him—did she hear him, ever, damn—but her sleight of hand was automatic. Said, with a half-smile, "El, I saved her life and delivered her child after being knocked unconscious. I've saved your marriage more times than I can count."

Elliot didn't respond, but his eyes looked gray in the dim light of her apartment and now they wrapped her up in a slow, measured gaze.

Olivia clinked her glass to his, downed her shot, ignoring the sparks just below her skin, ignoring his sudden transparency.

He followed her lead. He always did. And she watched when closed his eyes and tipped the glass between his lips, watched the lines of his neck flex with his swallow.

Conversation turned to lighter things. And the case at hand. After a couple hours and a few drinks more, he'd left. She was woozy on her feet, and he'd caught her elbow lightly as she'd opened the door and she'd said goodnight, leaning in close to his body as she regained her balance.

Olivia knew she needed to pull away, and she did, even after his hand had brushed her waist as he'd reached to close the door.

She had wanted him for years, too many to count.

After she locked the door, she exhaled. Then stripped down to a tshirt and cotton shorts and lay on the bare wood of her floor, feeling her skin pucker and her muscles tense against the chill. Loosened by alcohol, she lay there and imagined what it would be to wrap her legs around his waist while he fucked her. To kiss him until she broke his control, to taste the bourbon on his tongue, to steal that taste for herself, to lick her tongue down the salt in the dip of his throat and scrape her teeth and breath against the scars on his chest. Olivia allowed herself a few short minutes of this, her pulse racing, then stood to rinse their glasses in the sink and shut off the lights.

)( )( )(

She woke in the dark to a delicate knock on her head.

"Come in," she mumbled sleepily.

Calvin appeared in the frame of her eyesight, grinning nervously. "Olivia? You up?"

She returned his smile despite herself and turned over on the sofa to face him more fully. "Am now. Morning."

Calvin returned the smile and ducked his head shyly. "Olivia, um, it's snowing. Hard." He cleared his throat, then rushed through, "Do I have to go to school?"

Olivia felt a soft stirring, a muted memory of snow days. Fourth morning running, this kid didn't let hope die easy. Glanced at the clock. 5:51. She switched on the radio for school closings. "Kinda rare. City likes to torture by keeping it open, so don't get too excited."

Calvin flopped down on the floor beside the sofa. The announcer droned on. "So many schools! What about the public schools?" he bounced a little and let out a frustrated sigh. "C'mon!"

"Calvin," she laughed. "Relax."

He looked at her and frowned a little. "Why are you out here? You look like you're about to fall off."

She looked down, remembering, smile fading a little. After Elliot had left—left his scent all over her house, left his lip prints on her shot glass, but whatever—she had fallen asleep with her hand touching the wall that separated the living room from her bedroom, where Calvin was fast asleep.

"...New York City Public Schools ..."

Calvin let out a holler and jumped up on the sofa. "Woo hoo!"

)( )( )(

She texted Elliot, because it was innocent, really, maybe a little because she missed him, and she knew the squad cars were all snowed in, for now at least, and the city was finally beautiful:

Snow day.

Come play.

(tbc)


End file.
